Promised Land

by Martin Fletcher

  Their discussions, which sometimes became arguments, and then fights, had been about the future. Now, the future had arrived.

  “Diana.” Peter took his wife’s hand. He forced himself to look into her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do, but it’s decision time.” He placed his hands on her stomach, felt the roundness, felt for a baby elbow or foot. “What’s best for all of us? I could find work here somewhere. Easily. But I just don’t know what the point would be.”

  “Maybe the point would be it’s time to think of ourselves and our children. The best place for a good life. And soon there’ll be another one of us.” She placed her hand on his and pressed it on her navel. “Pushing hard. Must be another boy.”

  “God forbid.”

  They laughed. “But, really,” Diana said. “What shall we do?”

  “I just don’t know. Look, I said on the phone I’d go back, so let’s go back. I’ll see what they want from me, and we’ll take it from there. I can always come back here.”

  “I don’t buy the ‘What’s best for the Jewish state’ anymore. What I want to know is, What’s best for us? What’s best for our children? England? America? Israel?”

  “But what does that mean? Best? An easy life? America, then. A life with meaning? Israel.”

  Diana said with a smile, “A life with neither? England.”

  “Well, either way, the vacation’s over. Let’s go home and see what happens.”

  They stayed for dinner, roast chicken and fries, but then said they had to go, not west to Vegas and the Canyon, but back to New York to pack and return to Israel. If she could get on the plane at seven months’ pregnant, Diana pointed out. She’d need a very loose coat.

  “It just means that we’ll come back and see you again on our next trip West,” Peter said.

  “I do hope so, and not in another nineteen years,” Vera said, serving the last slice of carrot cake with the coffee and cream. “But you never really said what you do. The office called you back? It must be very important if they call you back from America. Can’t someone else do it while you’re on vacation? Mr. Wilson always made sure there was another consultant on call to service his clients. Something always pops up in insurance, you know.”

  “Yes, they didn’t say what, exactly. Still, never mind, we had a good run, can’t sneeze at three years in America.”

  “No, indeed. But what do you do? If the boys ask me, and they will, you know.”

  “Foreign ministry. Protocol and liaison with the diplomatic corps. Involves a bit of travel sometimes. But they were kind enough to allow me three years study leave, to get a second wind in my life, so to speak, so I can hardly let them down now.”

  “Oh, of course not. Well, it sounds like a very good job.”

  When Peter and Diana called the boys and rose to leave, Vera had tears in her eyes. “I hope you come back,” she said, gripping Peter. “You were such a lovely little boy, lost and lonely, and now look at you, I’m so very proud of you.” She paused. “And I’m so sorry about your family, you know that. I read the stories and I always thought of your parents and brother and sisters. How lucky you are to have your brother.”

  Peter kissed her on the cheek. “You must come and visit us in Israel one day.”

  “Oh, I’m a bit old for that, but…”

  “I’ll come,” Alice cut in. “Ezra and Noah said I can stay with them, can I go, Grandma?”

  “You’ll have to ask your parents, my dear.”

  “But they’ll say no, they always do.”

  “And does that ever stop you?”

  “I’ll see you in Israel,” Alice said with a bright laugh, and kissed each boy on the cheek. They blushed bright crimson and said “Yuck” and wiped their cheeks. Everybody laughed.

  “Bye-bye,” Alice waved as the taxi pulled away. “See you in Israel. I promise.”

  PETER

  TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

  August 1962

  Not only couldn’t they decide whether to stay in Israel, they couldn’t even agree on where to live while they decided. Mossad only footed two weeks in a hotel. After that, Peter wanted to rent an apartment in Tel Aviv, while Diana wanted to accept Tamara’s offer to stay in her new house.

  Arie had bought four dunams, an acre, on the neglected clifftop near Herzliya and among the ragged cacti and dunes had built what he claimed was the biggest home in Israel. One day, he said, this would be prime real estate. Ten miles north of Tel Aviv, it had infinite views over the Mediterranean with its breathtaking sunsets, there was a huge yard for the kids to play in, and parking for half a dozen cars. There were two other, much smaller homes nearby.

  “It’s crazy,” Tamara had told Diana. “It’s megalomania. But it’s also beautiful. The weirdest thing is that we have two maids and a gardener who live in the ma’abara slum in Nof Yam. It’s almost next door. That’s where I used to live. And now I live in this villa that’s big enough for half the slum to live in. Please come and stay, there’s plenty of room. There’s a good school close by and Yaacov drives the kids there and back.”

  For Peter, that was the final straw. “Absolutely not. Are you crazy? A chauffeur for the twins? Who do you think we are? I know Arie thinks he’s Louis the Fourteenth, but Tamara, what does she think about all this?”

  “She loves it. Who wouldn’t? Get off your high horse, Peter. And anyway, she’s amazing. She’s a human rights lawyer now, so she’s helping those poor people in the ma’abara, not just getting upset. You think it helps them if we live in two rooms on the third floor with no elevator when I’m about to give birth? Do you know how heavy the groceries are?”

  “We’ll find a ground-floor flat. I just don’t want charity from my brother.”

  “Oh, come off it. You’re not in competition. Ah! That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want him to think he’s winning? Just because he’s got more money. You don’t want him to think…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not about money. We live in different worlds, and his pays more, that doesn’t worry me. It’s just that … well, his values are so messed up, I don’t want any part of it.”

  Diana continued the argument, but Peter wasn’t listening. He had drifted off into his usual inner confusion in which he hated what Arie did but understood why he did it. He could never find the right words. It emerged as criticism, anger, and jealousy, but that wasn’t what he felt. Who was he, who had had it so easy, to criticize, compared to his younger brother, who had had it so hard? On the other hand you don’t excuse a murderer because he had a bad childhood. Anyway, Arie wasn’t really evil, he just played the system to get stinking rich. Why did he resent that so much? Was it purer in Israel to be poor? Should the rich apologize? Those values were just as messed up as Arie’s, only different.

  “Maybe we should just go live in America after all,” he said.

  “What? Did you hear what I’ve been saying? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Sorry. I drifted off. What?”

  “That’s it. I can’t take this. Look, we’re moving in with Tamara. I mean, think about it. We get a small flat in Tel Aviv, you’re not even home, you’re off in Europe somewhere…”

  “Who says I’m going anywhere?”

  “… and I have a baby all alone as per usual. No help. What’s better? That? Or staying with Arie and Tamara, family who love me, and daily help, and the boys playing with their cousins, lots of space. Come on, Peter, it’s obvious. If you just stop obsessing about your brother, we can have a lovely time. And then when you come back from wherever you’re going, we’ll find our own place, in good time, without the stress of rushing around now to find a little place before you leave.”

  “You seem to have decided I’m going back to the Office. All I’m going to do is see what they want. Then we’ll see.”

  “Oh, sure. You’re going to say no to Little Isser. That’ll be the day. Anyway, I’ve decided. We’re moving in with Arie and Tamara, and, in case you don’t know, we’re very grateful fo
r their offer, and I want you to say thank you to Arie.”

  * * *

  Before that penance, Peter had to perform another chore in Tel Aviv, and for that he dressed in his finest khaki pants and short-sleeved khaki shirt. His only nod to three years in America were the soft brown tassel loafers, which drew titters as he waited in the café by the new Mossad headquarters off King Saul Boulevard. He stared at the Office entrance, a nondescript door between a bank and some shops, in the rundown lobby of an eight-floor building. There was no indication the door was bomb-proof.

  After three minutes it opened and there was Gingie, her arms open, with a huge grin. “Welcome home. When’s the baby due?”

  They hugged, patting each other’s backs. “In seven weeks,” Peter said. “Can’t wait.”

  “Good luck with that. They have plans for you.”

  “I’m going to be at the birth. I swore to Diana.”

  “I hope you had your fingers crossed then. They want you on the top floor right away.”

  Gingie shut the door behind him with the dull clang of reinforced steel. “Consider that a metaphor,” she said. “The door just slammed on you.”

  “Cute.”

  As the elevator climbed, Peter felt a rush of anxiety. What did they want from him? What would he say? Diana had left it up to him. So that he could take the blame?

  “First floor, Communications,” Gingie counted. “Second and third floors, Research and Development.” A low whine of machine and metal coils. “Fourth floor, Analysts and Planning. Fifth, you lot. Sixth…”

  “Yes, yes, Gingie. How are you? I’d like to say it’s good to be back, but…”

  “Eighth and top floor,” Gingie interrupted. “Directors. The elevator, and the buck, stops here.”

  “Unless there’s a screwup. Then the shit flows right down to the first floor.”

  “Nothing’s changed. And that’s why you’re here.”

  Isser Harel was where he most liked to be, in the field, overseeing an op in Europe. Where? Do you need to know? No. But when his secretary, Dvora, showed Peter into Harel’s office, he found another legendary figure of the shadows. Short and barrel-chested, like Harel, but a lot more frightening, Rafi Eitan, Mossad’s deputy operations chief, watched Peter enter with a wary eye. He waved him to a chair.

  It was the first time Peter had seen Eitan since his triumph of capturing Adolf Eichmann, Hitler’s architect of the Final Solution. When Eichmann was abducted from a Buenos Aires street, it was Eitan who seized his head in the getaway vehicle. On the other hand he let Doctor Mengele, the Auschwitz Angel of Death, get away, saying that his capture could jeopardize the even more important kidnapping of Eichmann. That was two years ago. Whatever Mossad got up to, success or failure, it seemed that the legendary Eitan was all over it. Eitan’s reputation was second to none in Mossad, which made him one of the world’s most effective spies. That made his offer all the more compelling.

  “You will work directly with me,” he began as if issuing an order. “On a specific mission. Long-term. Risky. Promotion. I know you’re just back from America, congratulations on your degree. I know you must have other options and you’re probably considering them. Probably in America. So? Are you in or out?”

  Peter tried not to, but he had to laugh. It came out as a snigger. Eitan didn’t move a muscle. His stare was unwavering.

  “Rafi, how long have we known each other?” Peter said. “How about a word of greeting maybe? How’s Diana? Something?”

  “You need time to think?”

  “All right, if that’s the way it is. We’re having a baby. I want to be there at the birth. I want to spend more time at home with Diana. Yes, you’re right as usual, we’re thinking of moving to America. I do have some options there…”

  “So your answer is?”

  Peter looked past Eitan’s shoulder, he considered the boss’s spartan room, the simple wooden desk, not one ornament. He hadn’t even been offered a glass of water. What a difference. His lowly college professor’s study suite in New York would swallow this office several times. His suite had a liquor cabinet as well-stocked as a hotel bar. Oil paintings hung on the wall, the deep leather sofa was covered with Colombian rugs, there was a wall of books and a big color television.

  Israel didn’t even have TV.

  But he and Diana had chewed this over interminably. What’s life really all about? At this point, their children. Where do we want to raise them? With what values? And after all, how many watches can we wear? How big does a kitchen have to be? Do we really need a car? Diana had said he should decide. May as well be now.

  Peter stretched out his hand to Israel’s top spy.

  “My answer is, yes. I’m in. But in what?”

  TAMARA and DIANA, PETER and ARIE

  HERZLIYA, ISRAEL

  August 1962

  The cabbie was so excited to pull in to the circular driveway of such a mansion that he leaned on the horn as if summoning a flock of servants. “Whose palace is this, Nebuchadnezzar?”

  Three fully grown and freshly planted palm trees lined either side of the cobblestoned entry. An ancient olive tree topped a new hill with patchy grass. Water dripped over a rock into an empty fishpond.

  “My brother,” Peter said, “and this is his Hanging Garden of Babylon.”

  “Well, lucky him—and you. Does he need a driver?”

  “I’m sure he has several. How much do I owe you?”

  “Can I double the fare?”

  “Sure, if he pays. Unfortunately, I’m paying. Can I have a reduction?”

  “You’re in a good mood. I would be too if I had a brother like that. Mine’s in jail.”

  “What for?”

  “He says he didn’t do it.”

  “Well, my brother did do it. That’s how he got this place.”

  There was a shriek from the house. Tamara was at the door, arms wide, sweeping up Ezra and Noah with a cry of welcome.

  “Boys, come back and get your bags,” called Diana.

  “Don’t tell me the poor lads have to carry their own bags!” the cabbie shouted as he drove away. “What is this country coming to?”

  Peter shook his head and picked up two shoulder bags, two suitcases, and some packages, which fell as he walked through the door.

  “My God, this is beautiful,” Diana said, as she entered the kitchen, “it’s huge.” At the double sink she looked through a large picture window onto the lawn that stretched to the cliff. Beyond it lay the Mediterranean Sea, blue and bright to the horizon, its waves whipped white by the wind.

  “Awful wear and tear, so close to the sea. All that salt in the air,” Peter said. “Everything will rust.”

  “Don’t be so miserable,” Diana said.

  “I’m joking.” Peter put his arms around Tamara and kissed her on both cheeks. “Tamara, thank you so much for letting us stay. You’re saving us.”

  “No, you’re saving me. I hardly ever see Arie, and Daniel and Carmel can’t wait to see Ezra and Noah. They’ll be home from school soon. It’ll be such fun, all the twins living together. Here, let’s do the tour and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  The twins carried their bags, bounced on their beds, and explored the house until they all met again on the terrace for orange juice.

  “It’s amazing,” Diana said. “Such an enormous garden.”

  “Not forever, though. You know Arie, he thinks ahead,” Tamara said. “The land wasn’t very expensive, most people don’t like to be by the sea, but he says that will change. He says the location is the best in Israel, even if people don’t know it yet. He built the house on one dunam, and he says in a few years he’ll build houses on the other three dunams and sell them. That way the profit will pay for our home and a lot more. We’ll have got all this for nothing.”

  “You have to laugh,” Peter said, pouring more juice. “The man is extraordinary.”

  They heard a car crunch up on the gravel, a slamming door, footsteps tapping across the Swe
dish oak floor, and Arie appeared through the kitchen door, his arms wide. He hugged them all, holding on to Peter for the longest time. “Welcome, brother. I want you to stay for as long as you like. Diana, you’ll have your baby here, it’ll give us such pleasure, right, Tamara?” He laid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead. She smiled at them. “Yes. Yes, it would. And we can help with the boys.”

  Arie poured himself some orange juice, and brought out a bottle. “Vodka, anyone?” he said, adding a healthy tot to his juice.

  “Before lunch?” Peter said.

  “Don’t you start as well. So what do you think?” he said, throwing his arms wide. “The house that Peugeot built.”

  “Peugeot? It’s such a good business?”

  “That and more. The whole car business is booming and we have a finger in every pie. Spare parts. Road construction. Traffic lights. Even radios. I’m putting one in each car I sell, I’ve done a deal with a new Japanese company called Sony, they make cheap transistor radios. We’re putting them in our cars. We’re going to be the agent for all their products in Israel, Greece, Cyprus, and Turkey.”

  “What about construction?” Peter asked.

  “That too. A different company though. Remember Natanel, from Herzliya city hall? He’s running it for me. It’s incredible. Israel’s population has trebled in fourteen years. There’s never been a country like it. Everyone needs a home and we’re building them. It isn’t even our money, it’s from the bank. As long as we pay back the interest, we’re printing money.”

  “You’ve done so well,” Diana said. “How many people are working for you now?”

  Arie laughed. “Let’s see, how many fingers do you have? Full-time? Two hundred and eighty-five in Dimona, in the textile factory, another seventy-three at Feather Products. Most of the construction work is done on contract or day work. Cars and related, another two hundred or so, and growing quickly. Food products, with the grocery chain we’re setting up, maybe another hundred so far. I’d say all in all pushing a thousand, without construction, with two areas of rapid growth built in.”